


Picking up the Pieces

by impish_nature



Series: Shattered [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, I Tried, I tried to make it happier but I don't know if I succeeded, Sequel to Mirror Mirror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 17:25:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8022664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impish_nature/pseuds/impish_nature
Summary: Set during and after the events of Mirror Mirror.Ford has to figure out how to pick up the pieces.





	Picking up the Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> I said I’d try to write a sequel! and this is what I came up with. At the moment there won’t be a third story.

_Beep… Beep… Beep…_

Ford felt sleep tug at his eyelids, his mind drifting into semi-lucid thoughts as the steady pulsing beep lulled him ever so slowly, ever closer to the rest his body hissed for. He shook his head, dislodging the wayward thoughts as best he could before he sat up straighter, hand still clasping another’s though it was limp and warmed only by his own continuous hold.

He had to stay awake. That was easy for him. Or at least, it usually was. Here with no danger, the knowledge that he was safe in four walls, a place of healing - his body was slowly betraying him. As the soft assurance settle into him that he was home, in his own dimension where there was little to attack him in the middle of rest, his aches and pains also made themselves known, reminding him that sleep really was a necessity at this point.

_Beep…_

He shook himself again at the noise, this beep sounding louder and shriller as he focused more on it and his surroundings.

He couldn’t rest. Not now.

He wanted to be awake when he woke up.

**If** _. If he-  
Stop it._

Ford glared at the wall across from him as now his mind followed suit with his body and betrayed him in murmurs that he did not want to contemplate.

He would wake up. He _had_ to wake up.

_Beep…_

Ford couldn’t bring himself to look down at him again, continuing to glower at the wall as if it had caused all of his current problems.

He hated this place.

It was ironic really, considering hospitals were few and far between in the multiverse, he would expect to welcome the atmosphere and comfort of them. But it was all too _sterile_. Years of travelling, years of making do, the chemical smell made his nose wrinkle. It masked too much, hid the smells that had become a baseline. The white walls and harsh lights made him wince too, used to darkness and hiding in the shadows. It was too open, too vulnerable, even though he knew he was safe he could feel eyes on the back of his head whenever someone walked past the room.

Not to mention the biggest flaw of all about the place.

He was here because something was fundamentally _wrong_.

And that wrongness ate away at him, piece by piece.

He _really_ hated this place.

…It wasn’t the hospital’s fault.

Ford finally plucked up the courage to look at what was possibly the worst part of the hospital. His stomach lurched again, as if he’d forgotten just how bad the situation was. He tugged the hand in his closer again, leaning his head against it as he stared at his prone brother. The hospital room blinkered from his vision and his hearing as he focused on his twin.

“Come on, Stan…”

He didn’t really know what he was asking for. For him to come back to him? That was laughable. Like he’d listen to that after everything that had happened. Perhaps to come back to the kids? They were heartbroken, torn apart by this sudden turn of events. They had gained a Grunkle only to lose the other. And this one wasn’t sure he could take care of them.

_Selfish._

Ford quaked at the thought. That wasn’t what he’d meant. He didn’t want Stanley to come back just to look after the kids because he didn’t think he was fit to do so himself.

_I just want you back. I know you’ll ask why…after everything but- just come back, Stan._

He glanced again at his brother’s face, ever hopeful that somehow the thoughts would have gotten through to him. But his brother stayed the same, his face ashen white and drawn, the only thing paler being the heavy gauze that spiralled around his head. The only sign that he was still alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest but Ford couldn’t bring his gaze away from his face now that he’d finally glanced at it again, assured by the steady beep that he’d know if anything untoward happened.

He bit his lip, eyes still caught on his twin. Only days before they’d been standing side by side in front of the mirror, noting the similarities and differences in their long time apart.

Now Ford could see only differences. Not just between them but the sheer change in Stan since that moment. Small and vulnerable, that’s how he now seemed, wrapped in bandages with everything around him pale and pastel and _dull_. They’d taken away his suit and fez, though Mabel had fought fervently for the headwear to be placed beside him at least, ready for when he awoke. She said he’d want it, that was all, and that was all the answer that she needed to give for Ford to place it there waiting for its owner.

It did nothing for him though, nothing but highlight it was not in its rightful place as far as Ford could see. Another difference to the image before him to twist his mouth down further.

Stan wasn’t meant to look vulnerable. Even when he’d come through the portal, Stan had been stubborn and argumentative, or he had been after he’d thrown that first punch in any case. But now all the fight had left him and that left ice pooling in Ford’s stomach.

Stan was a fighter, he always fought, that was just the way he was.

He was always full of energy, loud and dramatic and full of bravado.

But not today.

Today was cold and silent. Shrunken and defenceless.

It was all _wrong_. None of this should have happened.

Ford felt himself sinking against the bed, head on his crossed arms and hand still held tight, mind wandering further and further away from the present as he stared at the broken image before him. He wondered not for the first time, what had led them to this particular predicament. Where all of this had started and cascaded away from him.

 _It started with a crash_.

Ford shook his head mindlessly, rocking his chin against his arm. In hindsight maybe it had. In hindsight he knew exactly when things had taken this turn. Knew exactly what he could have done to change it all. Knew exactly what he _had_ done.

He had heard the smashing chime from his room. It had made him bolt upright, heart racing as a myriad of possibilities spun around his head. All manner of creatures, all manner of assailants from across the multiverse sparked up behind his eyelids as he held his breath and shuffled to the door, gun ready and poised as he waited for another sign to know exactly who he was dealing with.

Heavy footsteps had then fallen, a pace that was slightly familiar but wiped out more possibilities than it added new ones, unrecognisable enough for him to have not memorised the gait as he had had to do with many persistent pursuers. A few moments later his brother had come into sight, not his face or perhaps he would have noted something out of place, just his back walking away down the hall.

Ford had rolled his eyes, the door shutting once again with a dark quiet rumble about his twin, questioning what he had dropped stumbling around the house at such a late hour.

He’d gone back to sleep without a thought.

Until the rumble and splutter of an engine roused him again.

Fumbling his way off the sofa he had found his way to the window, squinting past the sleepy fog still permeating his brain as he watched the car quickly peel out of the yard.

“Stan?”

He remembered shrugging, remembering shaking his head and giving up on understanding his brother after thirty years apart and made his way back to the sofa again. He had drifted off to sleep, making a note to give Stan a piece of his mind when he awoke. After all he was meant to be a responsible guardian, what was he doing leaving in the middle of the night and waking the whole house up in the process? What was he doing leaving two children in the hands of someone he had not seen or heard from in thirty years?

It was only later, once the ball was rolling and the events had already fallen out of his control that he would find the mirror broken and bloody and piece together what had and hadn’t been going through his twin’s head as he left.

In hindsight, it had started with a mirror shattering.

_In reality, it started with a phone call._

Ford nodded to the thought, a soft sad hum of assent quickly crushed as it masked the beep that was keeping him somewhat grounded. The loud piercing shrill of the phone as it rang into the morning had awoken him with another unwanted start. He had growled at first, the sound unrecognisable as he panted at the sudden jolt, springing up ready for attack. When none came and the phone continued its incessant pitch, he’d stormed downstairs, cursing both whoever was ringing and Stan for ignoring it and yet again keeping him from his much needed rest.

That had all changed once he’d answered. Biting back the sharp words he wanted to lash out at the person as he listened to the official sounding voice that rang down the phone with authority.

_It started with a question._

It had started then for him, with the first peaceful morning he’d had in years shattering around him, blood pounding through his ears and blocking out everything bar the words the man uttered.

Everything had gone numb with those words.

“ _I’m sorry but there’s been an accident.”_

He’d finally made it home. Stan had got him home.

He’d been so angry at him for getting him home.

It was all he’d ever wanted. To get home safely but he’d known the consequences of such an action and had year after year pushed it further and further from his mind. He couldn’t be selfish, couldn’t force a way in, just to get home. Bill would follow him through and then what would he have accomplished?

But even so he’d always had that small burning hope. That small miniscule hope that one day he’d find a safe way back.

And then Stan had done the unthinkable and got him home.

And that miniscule hope, that miniscule part that would be grateful for what had transpired was lost in the livid haze of reality and the domino effect that Stan’s actions could cause.

Now he’d lost Stan.

And all that fiery anger had burned away to cold nothingness with that phone call.

“ _I’m sorry but there’s been an accident.”_

It had been a wake-up call to tell the kids. To debate about rousing them from their serene slumbers and tell them what had happened. He had plucked up the nerve to in the end, wanting to get it out of the way. He couldn’t leave them here and part of him needed to see. He needed to know that his brother was still breathing so that the panic that was bubbling could abate.

As long as Stan was _alive_ , that was all that mattered. The feuding and fighting could wait. The care and concern for his twin that he had thought was long since severed was rearing its head.

Even in his most viciously heated rages and his cold painful disappointment he had only ever wanted Stan away from him, he had never wished harm on him.

He hadn’t realised that the difficult part of this particular conversation would not lay in telling them what had happened. No, those words droned out of him listlessly, cold and numb and falling past his lips like the results of a science experiment once he got past the struggle the first sentence caused.

_“Stan’s been in an accident.”_

The fallout afterwards had splintered his fragile mental frame further. They were distraught, disbelieving until they saw his expression. Gone was the bright eyed grin that he had received even as he woke her up, gone was the sudden curiosity that the boy displayed as soon as he saw ‘the author’ rousing him, both of them for just a second as optimistic and glowing as the day before when he’d first met them, even through their confusion at the sudden turn of events. Too consumed in their grief for his brother, their Grunkle who had looked after them for the summer, he watched the lights die with a heavy heart.

There was too much information far too quickly for them to process but they struggled through it, racing around to get themselves ready, chattering about how they could help, what they could do- there had to be something they could _do_.

They loved him wholeheartedly, fear and worry etched deep into faces too young, in his eyes, to hold that much grief.

And in that moment he had been hit in the stomach with a sudden realisation.

He knew nothing about his brother.

Assumption over assumption. Nothing concrete, all circumstantial.

That was all he knew about his brother in the last forty years.

And here were two children who skewed that image entirely.

He might never get the chance to ask him now, never get the chance to know him.

And wasn’t it ironic? How he hadn’t realised he might ever want that until it had been ripped away from him?

But the kids were still talking, still figuring out what to do with themselves and piling the weight on his shoulders unknowingly as he sat there lost to the sway of the situation. Lost and dazed, he had been preparing himself for so many possibilities, preparing himself for Bill to try anything to get through too or for how he was going to struggle back into normality after everything he had been through.

He hadn’t been preparing for _this_.

And the kids kept highlighting just how unprepared for it he had been.

He hadn’t realised the most difficult question that the kids would have for him was _why?_

_Why had this happened? What was he doing out in his car that late?_

He could try to tell himself this wasn’t his fault. Try to tell himself that Stanley had gotten into his car when he shouldn’t have. It was Stanley who hadn’t been composed enough to check for others on the road that late at night. Hell, he could even blame the man who had run the red light without any worries at all.

But deep down…deep down he knew none of that was the case.

Because Stan wouldn’t have been driving if it wasn’t for him.

He’d listened to him. For once, he’d listened.

Ford huffed out a humourless laugh at the thought, muffled in his coat sleeves.

If Stan had just _listened_ and taken the journal like he’d told him then he wouldn’t have fallen through the portal. If Stan had _just listened_ to his scribbled warnings then he wouldn’t have reopened the portal and caused a rift that Ford still had to deal with completely. It was safe enough for now with his makeshift barrier of glass but he knew it wouldn’t hold forever. Even that thought was a low priority given the circumstances, blinking in and out as soon as he’d reminded himself of the fact, something that he felt he should be surprised at but couldn’t quite bring himself to be.

If Stan had listened there’d be no rift to begin with.

That’s what he’d told himself time and time again. If Stan had _just listened to me_.

Well this time he had. He’d listened to his requests and now here they were, the beep a constant reminder for what his words had caused.

_Looks like you’re not always right, doesn’t it? You always blamed things on Stan not listening. But look at this. The one time he listened to you and look what it did to him._

When he’d heard the car leaving he hadn’t even thought about it. But if he had known? Would he have cared? Stan had not only listened to him, he had heard when he wasn’t wanted and taken the initiative.

Ford would have probably been happy with him for doing as he requested if nothing drastic had happened. He winced, shuddering at the image of himself with that knowledge, probably shaking his head and tutting as his brother drove away without warning and left him with two children who he barely knew. Children who would ask questions and wonder why he had left so abruptly without as much as a goodbye.

As if Stan had felt like he had a choice. So distraught that he had-

Ford closed his eyes at the images that bombarded him. He hadn’t seen the accident but it didn’t matter as the sequence of events flashed behind his eyelids. Stan heartbroken, torn and disappointed- the car speeding through streets in his anguish- cars crumpling as they collided. He heaved, a whimper falling through his lips, at the ragdoll lifeless body his mind forced forward, clutching tighter at Stan’s hand almost worried if he let go now Stan would vanish entirely.

But he’d spoken the truth, hadn’t he? He’d wanted Stan to leave but he hadn’t thought of what that could mean. Hadn’t thought of what Stan would do after. He had just wanted his name back and his house and he hadn’t thought about what else might happen. It was only fair, they were _his_.

_I never wanted this._

It would be hypocritical now, when the positions had been switched, not to point the finger squarely at himself. In that moment shame bubbled, thick and suffocating, wondering whether Stan would blame him or himself once he awoke.

Either way, he wanted- no _needed_ Stan to wake up so he could make amends. Needed to be given the chance to fix things. Properly this time.

_I never wanted this._

No more fighting. He was still angry, still upset, the grudge embedded so deep into him, but he had never meant to hurt Stan, not like this. From now on he’d make sure that they worked through things. He hadn’t realised how much the connection had meant, how much this burned bridge needed to be mended until this point.

Again his mind betrayed him, flashing the image of Stan, arms wide and waiting when he’d come through the portal.

Stan had known what that felt like. Stan had been so relieved to see him alive and well. Thirty years of worrying, thirty years of wishing he’d done things differently and scared he’d never have the chance to make amends.

Ford wished he’d done things differently. Wished he’d never met Bill or listened to a word he’d said. Wished he and Fiddleford had never created the portal.

Sometimes he even wished he’d never set foot in Gravity Falls.

But never until this moment had he wished that he had made amends with Stan earlier.

He burrowed deeper into the blankets, feeling the slow steady pulse in Stan’s wrist and let it ground him as his body started to shake with the tears he was still trying to hold back.

_I never wanted this._

The hand twitched.

Ford didn’t even notice the first time until fingers tightened around his own. He blinked, sitting up slightly to stare at the hand he was holding, minute spasms flickering through it as he watched unthinkingly.

And then the switch flicked, the dam bursting as a flood of what that actually meant engulfed him.

He stood up, the chair clattering and falling behind him as he noted the twitch of Stan’s eyelids, the heavy set frown as he pulled himself out of the darkness. Ford stood by him, hand now on his shoulder, willing him all the way. “Come on, Stan, that’s it, you can do this-”

His breathing hitched as they finally fluttered open, a soft groan of pain reverberating through the room but it didn’t _matter_. The tears he had been pushing back cascaded over the edge as Stan looked around bewildered.

_He’s awake. He’s back. He did it._

“ _Stan_.” The word left him in a bubble of relief, a hiccup as he wiped at his eyes, smiling away even as the tears continued to fall slowly and willingly down his cheeks.

He’d finally woken up.

Stan locked onto him, eyes foggy and eyebrows furrowed as he tried to discern what was going on. Ford didn’t let the look discourage him, knowing that everything must be disorientating for him.

“Stan? Stan, you’ve been in an accident but everything- everything’s _fine_ now, OK? Everything is…” Ford felt the words trail to nothingness, feeling his tearful happiness slowly dwindle as Stan continued to watch him, perplexity blooming on his face as he struggled with whatever was going through his head. “Stan?” He grabbed his hand again, biting his lip to stop the renewed painful sob as Stan tried to pull it away. He knew he’d still be angry, of course he’d still be angry, but he had to try and piece it altogether, to tell him how sorry he was. He had to use this time they’d been given to make amends. “Stan, please-”

“Who?”

The word bit through his lungs, his eyes widening as he stared back at his brother’s now fearful face. “What?” The word left him in a whisper, cold dread seeping through his skin to eat away at his core.

“W-who?”

And just like that everything that Ford had been preparing to say shattered and splintered into shards that bit deep into his chest. It was a quiet word, stuttered out and full of worry but somehow it echoed around the room, leaving a sharp ringing silence in its wake as they continued to stare at one another.

He hadn’t prepared himself for _this_.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Soooooo...I know I said I'd make it happier but...I don't know why the angst in this fic speaks to me so much louder...  
> And it's technically, technically better right? I mean canon Stan remembers sooner rather than later.
> 
> Also I'm not sure on the ending - I was very tempted to leave it at 'W-who?' because then it 'started and ended with a question' just like the other started and ended with a crash.
> 
> Either way - I'm gonna run now XD *blows a kiss*
> 
> I'm leaving it here though as I said at the top. Unless something comes to me a lot later.


End file.
